For some young women, pageant scene still glitters

BY KATHRYN WEXLER

kwexler@MiamiHerald.com

CHARLOTTE SOUTHERN / FOR THE MIAMI HERALD

Jillian Tapper of Fort Lauderdale waves from the stage after being crowned Outstanding Teen at the Miss Miami pageant.

• Gallery | Chasing the crown: On the South Florida pageant circuit

Here's a question for the beauty pageant contestants of the world.

Why bother?

Beauty queens long ago lost their standing as American idols. We now expect our heroes to carry a tune or eat live scorpions. We love Britney meltdowns and Survivor double-crossings. Raunch trumps taste, nearly every time.

So why spend Sunday afternoons in darkened auditoriums, parading around in swimsuits and gowns, twirling batons and performing pirouettes like it's 1966 or, for that matter, 1946?

Few do. At the Miss Miami contest scheduled for January, too few contestants -- ''talent'' as they're known in pageant-speak -- registered for the pageant to go on. So executive director Kelly Gaudet canceled the contest and hit the road.

''I kind of had to do some networking,'' said the striking brunet, who was Miss Florida Teen 1996 and Miss Florida 2001 and now works for Coral Gables developer Echo Partners. ``I went to other local pageants and handed out cards.''

The pageants are open to any naturally born female (transsexuals barred) between 18 and 24 years old who has lived or worked in Florida for six months. The only other condition: Contestants can't previously have been married or pregnant.

Two months later, Gaudet had her talent: 11 young hopefuls competing for the Miss Miami and Miss Miami Sun Coast crowns.

Standing backstage at the Alper Jewish Community Center Theater in Kendall on March 9, during intermission, Gaudet was nervous for the contestants.

''I sit in my chair,'' she said, ``squeezing my hands and saying little prayers for everyone.''

****

A Hanes girdle panty, Extreme Style MAX Hold hair spray, fat purple curlers, a D'Eva adhesive bra -- the dressing room was full of things to strap it in, pull it up and hold it together.

Audrina Bigos, 19, stood in an orange gown and attacked a bagel with gusto.

''After I did my swimsuit (competition), I have to eat,'' she said. ``I haven't had bread in three weeks.''

This was Bigos' second pageant. ``It's a great platform for me to promote what women should be -- classy, sophisticated and educated.''

At least onstage. In between primping, a killer blond in a black gown backstage would suddenly swivel like a pole dancer and rap like a gangsta:

Toot that thang up Mami make it roll

Once you pop pop lock it for me girl get low

If ya momma gave it to ya babygirl, let it show

****

To compete in Miss America, the beauty pageant begun in 1921 and held in Las Vegas since 2006, contestants must first win a statewide competition like Miss Florida, and before that, a local competition like Miss Miami or Miss Miami Sun Coast (the latter title exists so that judges can send a second winner to the Miss Florida contest if they so wish).

There's a certain defensiveness about the pageant world today, and understandably so.

''They think it's just a pretty face with a crown on it,'' said Danielle Mortimer, Miss Miami Sun Coast 2007, who put in an appearance at the pageant. ``They don't see us in hospitals and schools, raising awareness.''

Actually, it's not politically correct these days to even call them ''beauty pageants.'' You're supposed to say, ''scholarship'' pageants, because winners get money toward an education, as though what it's really all about is learning.

But everyone knows crowns aren't awarded for smarts, no matter what the pageant is called.

Ask contestants what their families and friends think of the competitions and you're met with an accusatory, defensive silence.

They love it, comes the answer after a long pause. They support it. That's all. Why?

Asked one, ``Are you trying to get an angle?''

****

The blond in the black dress was having a time of it.

She'd dropped her baton three times. It didn't help that another twirler had nailed her routine perfectly. ''I don't know what's wrong with me,'' she said, over and over. It's cold in here, she said. Her hands are frozen. Feel them.

A woman getting ready for the evening gown section succumbed to tears. She dabbed at her eyes, trying to keep the eyeliner from running down her cheeks.

The audience of about 300 had paid $12 a ticket and was mostly limited to relatives and boyfriends -- predictably so, as the pageant's titillation factor has been long diluted. Why pay to see eager, young women when The Bachelorette comes right to your living room? Or Girls Gone Wild?

Pageants today may be irrelevant to many. But to a few, they are life-altering.

''By far,'' an emotional Gaudet told the crowd, ``this Miss America pageant is the most important thing that has ever happened to me.''

For the talent portion, there was the song, Last Dance, made popular by Donna Sommer, and a dance routine to Havana Nights. Contestants in swimsuits and dresses circled slowly so judges could consider every vantage point. The most nerve-wracking part was the last: a single, surprise question.

One girl was asked about her independence. ''It's hard,'' she said, to keep from going broke. ``Thank you, Daddy.''

Others were queried about their ''platforms,'' or missions, if they won. They spoke of the YMCA, ''empowering children'' and autism awareness. One talked of microlending.

Microlending?

''Microlending focuses not on temporary aid but sustainable development,'' she said. Backstage, Theresa Crowley elaborated: ``I think it needs a lot of awareness because it's such a revolutionary prospect.''

It turns out that Crowley, 22, is an economics major at the University of Miami and is writing her summa cum laude thesis on the topic. This was her fourth pageant. She'd already won first runner-up to Miss Universe Miami.

Why compete? Why go through all the prancing and preening, with its stresses and upsets? Is it the money?

Certainly not, she said. The Miss Miami and Miss Miami Sun Coast crowns each come with a scholarship check for $500, a $250 gift certificate to Ann Marie's Bridals Boutique in Homestead, a $250 gift certificate to Regalia Magnificent Apparel for future pageants, and a Dr. Melanie Pugh teeth whitening package, worth $500. Total package: $1,500. A flashy evening gown alone can easily cost more, Crowley said.

''For a lot of people, I think it's prestige within the system,'' she said. ``Because I don't know how much you're going to get outside the system.''

Within the system, a small but ardent network of young women competes in the Florida pageant circuit until their age disqualifies them. They know the names of all the winners and runners-up, some going back years.

And they have generally long dreamed of snagging a glittering crown for themselves, cradling a bouquet and unfurling a winner's grin.

''I've been baton twirling since I was 3 years old,'' said contender Amanda Abrams. ``My teacher taught my mom and now she teaches me.''

Crowley said she competes mainly to spread the word about microlending, a practice she saw firsthand in Peru and Ecuador. And if the judges like her assets -- other than her mind -- well, fine.

''I always learn something about myself or about relating to a wide audience,'' she said. ``It always pushes me out of my element, so I like that, too. And when you are your most genuine, people find you beautiful.''

It would be nice to say that Crowley represents a whole new breed of contestants who see the pageant as a tool for self-exploration. Then, however, you'd expect more contestants who offer deep thoughts and fewer who simply rock a bikini.

Crowley was leggy and lovely in her simple yellow gown. She was poised and well-spoken, and came across as the smartest in the lineup. Was she the most beautiful? Maybe. Maybe not.

But she won.